They sent the devil into her black eye, but no color into her pale cheek.
She had a little scarlet shawl; she put it over her head, and went into the village.

She found it astir with expectation.
Mr.Bassett's house stood near the highway, but the entrance to the premises was private, and through a long white gate.
By this gate was a heap of stones, and Mary Wells got on that heap and waited.
When she had been there about half an hour, Richard Bassett drove up in a hired carriage, with his pale little wife beside him.

At his own gate his eye encountered Mary Wells, and he started.

She stood above him, with her arms folded grandly; her cheek, so swarthy and ruddy, was now pale, and her black eyes glittered like basilisks at him and his bride.
The whole woman seemed lifted out of her low condition, and dignified by wrong.
He had to sustain her look for a few seconds, while the gate was being opened, and it seemed an age.

He felt his first pang of remorse when he saw that swarthy, ruddy cheek so pale.